A Cat's Tale
by Ani-maniac494
Summary: Rodney McKay had always liked cats. Set pre-series. One-Shot.


Spoilers: No real spoilers in this one, though some subtle references to "McKay and Mrs. Miller."

Disclaimer: It's still not mine… *sighs sadly*

A/N: This was one of those fics that snuck up on me. It was inspired by comment fest number 1 on the rodneymckay_gen community on LJ. The prompt was "Cats! Earth or Pegasus, big or small, pet or sentient alien, or anything else you can come up with." I used David Hewlette's and Kate Hewlette's ages for the basis of Rodney and Jeannie's ages. They are 8 years apart, according to IMDb. :) (In my fic, they're in that small window when it sounds like there's 7 instead of 8 years difference, given their birth months.)

I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know what you think!

As always, I thank my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, for His incredible mercy and grace.

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><p><strong><span>A Cat's Tale<span>**

Thirteen-year-old Rodney McKay liked cats.

They were much better than dogs, in his opinion. They were independent. Self-sufficient. Confident. They didn't really need anyone else, but if they felt like it, they graced others with their presence.

They were more inclined to do that if you had something to give them. Chicken, he'd found, was the most effective, especially if it was fresh. That was why he'd snuck some off the table at dinner.

His parents hadn't noticed. He'd expected that. There wasn't much they _did_ notice.

Jeannie was a different story. She tended to be a little too observant - as Rodney had found out the hard way - but he'd had a plan for that. Well, not so much a plan as blackmail. He knew that Jeannie snuck cookies into her room sometimes. And, yeah, she shared them with Rodney once in a while, but he was willing to risk it if she tried to get him in trouble.

So, when she'd caught him slipping the piece of chicken into the plastic bag in his pocket, he'd conveyed his threat with a glare. Jeannie had just eaten another spoonful of mashed potatoes, and rolled her eyes at him with all the silent sarcasm a six-year-old could muster.

But, she hadn't said anything to their parents.

When dinner was over, and they'd been excused from the table with the usual dismissive wave, Rodney had slipped out of the kitchen, and out the backdoor into the yard. He glanced back at the house to make sure he was alone, then reached into his pocket for the chicken. The plastic bag crinkled as he opened it.

He tore off a piece of the meat, walked to a far corner of the yard, and sat down to wait.

It wasn't long before two large, yellow eyes were peering at him through a hole in the fence.

"Hi, Pavlov," he greeted quietly.

The cat mewed in answer, then jumped up on the fence and raised his head, sniffing the air as if trying to decide whether or not the chicken was worth his time. His fur was mostly a mix of brown, tan, and gray, with splashes of white on his face, and legs. Stripes marked his coat, darkening to black as they reached his tail. He was big, and surprisingly plump for a stray. Of course, he was fed pretty regularly, usually by Rodney, and the rest of his diet came from the trashcans that lined the alley behind the McKay house.

Apparently satisfied that this particular meal was up to his standards, Pavlov jumped down from the fence, and made his way leisurely across the yard.

He stopped when he reached Rodney's outstretched hand and sniffed the chicken once more, then nibbled at it, his whiskers tickling Rodney's fingers. Rodney carefully reached out with his free hand to pet him. Pavlov tolerated it until he'd finished the first piece of chicken, and then he batted at Rodney's hand with his paw and meowed insistently, the message clear: _You want to pet me, keep the food coming._

Rodney obliged, taking out the chicken again and tearing off another piece.

"You have a cat?"

Rodney jumped and glared up at Jeannie for following him out here, but his sister just cocked her head curiously, her blonde ponytail falling over her shoulder.

"No, it's a mutant gerbil," Rodney answered sarcastically.

Jeannie huffed, and crossed her arms, a gesture she'd picked up from their mother.

Rodney sighed, relenting. "Yes, I have cat. A feline. _Felis domesticus_. He's a stray."

"What's he doing here?"

"What does it look like he's doing here?" Seriously, what was with six-year-olds and questions that had obvious answers?

Jeannie made a face at him and bent down to get a better look at Pavlov, who ignored her and just kept eating his dinner.

"He's cute," she declared.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "No, he's not." Cute sounded so…undignified.

"He is too. What's his name?"

"Pavlov."

"Pavlov?" Jeannie's face scrunched up again. "That's a weird name. I think you should call him…George."

George? Rodney scoffed. Where did his sister come up with these things?

"I'm not changing his name. Ivan Pavlov was a scientist," he informed Jeannie. "A doctor, actually…but he did do some real science. He studied conditioned responses to food. He used dogs in his research, but it works for cats too. I feed this cat, the cat has come to expect it, hence, 'Pavlov.'"

Jeannie looked totally unimpressed with his reasoning. "I still say 'George' is better."

Rodney didn't bother to dignify that with a response.

"Can I feed him?" Jeannie asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because. Can't you go play or something?"

"I don't wanna go play. _Please_ can I feed him?" She gave her big brother a sad-eyed look, and Rodney sighed again.

"Fine." He grudgingly pulled out a piece of chicken and handed it to her.

Jeannie grinned at getting her way, and dropped down to the grass beside him.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," she called.

Pavlov turned to watch her curiously. She waved the chicken in front of him, making soft clicking noises with her tongue. "Come on," she encouraged.

The cat moved to take the chicken from her, but Jeannie didn't let him have it, drawing her hand back, closer to her lap.

"Come on," Jeannie coaxed again.

Pavlov gave her a doubtful look, but apparently decided that the chicken was worth putting up with whatever Jeannie had in mind. He stepped closer.

Jeannie moved her hand once more, and Pavlov gave an annoyed mew, probably threatening dire consequences if she did that again, before he stepped daintily into her lap. As he ate, Jeannie started petting him, running her hand over him from head to tail.

Pavlov arched his back with the movement, and rubbed his nose against Jeannie's palm.

Rodney felt a stab of annoyance. Pavlov never acted that way when _Rodney _pet him.

"Stop that," Rodney complained. "He's eating. You're bothering him."

"I am not, Mer. You're just jealous."

Rodney scoffed. "Don't call me Mer. And I'm not jealous!"

"Are too!"

"It's a cat," he huffed. "Why would I be jealous that he likes you?"

He expected Jeannie to keep arguing, but instead she looked at him seriously, her blue eyes intent. She frowned for a moment, then snatched the bag of chicken out of his lap.

"Hey!" he protested. "What are you-"

She pulled the chicken out of the bag, and broke the last of it into pieces. She dropped one piece right in front of her, scattered a couple other pieces between them, and dropped the final piece in Rodney's lap.

Pavlov's head perked up as he studied the trail of food. He gave a small hop as he left Jeannie's lap, and sniffed the ground, eating the fallen pieces of chicken until he reached Rodney's side. He flicked his tail, then jumped up into Rodney's lap, searching for the last piece.

"Go on, pet him," Jeannie prompted.

Rodney scowled at her, but tentatively ran his hand over Pavlov's back. It had taken him a couple weeks to get Pavlov to trust him in the first place, and leery of scaring him off, he'd never tried to hold him. But, Pavlov didn't seem to mind it now. Instead, he finished the last of his meal, gave his paws and whiskers a quick wash with his tongue, and settled down on his stomach, still in Rodney's lap.

A soft, contented rumble started in Pavlov's chest.

"He's purring, Mer!" Jeannie said, smiling.

Rodney blinked in surprise, and a slow smile of his own spread across his face.

Cats were definitely superior to dogs.

And, alright, so maybe little sisters weren't that bad either.

**Fin**

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><p>AN: I hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know what you think!

Take care and God bless!

Ani-maniac494 :)


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